from him by death. His grief was inexpressible. Already old, the good man aged visibly, and his hair became remarkably white. The only joy he had in the world now was his daughter, she alone being left to him out of several children, and at the death of her mother was only five years old. She was named after her mother Mary, and was in every way her faithful image. Even as a child she was exceedingly beautiful, but as she grew up, her artless mind, her innocence, modesty, and unfeigned benevolence to all, gave to her beauty a peculiar charm. Something so indescribably good beamed from her countenance, that it was as if one were looking on an angel.

Mary had not completed her fifteenth year when she managed the affairs of the house with all possible care. No dust was to be seen in the cheerful sitting-room, the kitchen utensils were almost as bright as new, the whole house was a pattern of order and cleanliness.

Moreover, she assisted her father in gardening with unwearied assiduity, and those hours which were thus occupied at his side were the most delightful of her life, for the wise parent knew how to render the work a pleasure by instructive and interesting conversation.

Mary, thus brought up amongst plants and herbs, and whose world the garden was, gained a love of flowers from her earliest childhood. Her father, therefore, sent every year for some seeds, bulbs, and flowers, which were new to her, and allowed her to plant the border of the garden-bed with flowers, which formed a pleasing occupation for Mary's leisure hours. Cherishing her tender plants with the greatest care, and watching every bud which was new to her, wondering and guessing what sort of a flower it contained, she could scarcely wait until it expanded, and when the long-expected flower stood out in all its beauty, her joy was indescribable. "Truly that is a pure and innocent amusement," said her father smiling. Many a parent spends more florins for ornaments and dress than I do kreuzers for flower-seeds, and yet does not render his daughter as happy." In fact every month, yes, every week, new joys budded for Mary; she often said in ecstacy, "Paradise could scarcely be more beautiful than our garden!" Nobody could pass by without standing to admire it, the children peeped daily through the railings, and Mary gathered them some flowers.

The good father, however, directed his child's mind to a higher aim, teaching her to acknowledge the wisdom, goodness, and power of GOD in the exquisite symmetry, magnificent tints, and delicious scent of flowers. It was his custom to rise earlier than his work rendered it necessary, in order to devote some time to prayer.

He considered life worth but little when man could not dedicate a couple of hours, or at any rate one hour in the day, undisturbed, in communion with his Creator, anticipating his high destination in heaven. On the lovely spring and summer mornings he would take his child with him into the bower, where, surrounded by a rich landscape, beaming with the golden rays of the morning sun, a blooming garden, sparkling with the early dew, and birds hymning their first song of praise, Jacob taught Mary Who it was that so mercifully permits the sun to shine, gives dew and rain, feeds the birds, and so gloriously clothes the flowers of the field. Here he taught her that Almighty GoD was also the all-merciful FATHER, Who manifested Himself infinitely more merciful and gracious, by offering up His beloved SON, than in creating all things. Here, teaching her to pray, while he himself prayed with her, these morning hours contributed to plant in her tender heart early piety.

In her favourite flowers he pointed out to her the emblems of virtue. One day, early in March, she brought to him, full of joy, the first violet.

"See, dear Mary," said her father; "the sweet violet is an emblem of humility, for it blows in retirement, clothing itself in the soft hues of modesty. It loves to blow in the shade, filling the air with the most delicious perfume under its hidden leaves. Be thou, my beloved child, a retiring violet; care not for fine and showy dress; and, like the violet, seek not to be admired, but rather, in retirement, endeavour to do good while you live."

When the roses and lilies were in full bloom, and the garden appeared in its most perfect beauty, Jacob used to say to his highly delighted Mary, whilst he pointed to a lily which was illuminated by the rays of the morning sun, "The lily should be to you, beloved daughter, the image of innocence. See how lovely, how bright and pure it is! The whitest satin is not to be compared to it; it resembles the snow. Happy she whose heart is pure from all evil; that which is pure, however, is the more difficult to preserve so. How easily may the purity of a lily be blemished! we dare not touch it roughly, or it would be stained. So even a word, a thought, may blemish innocence. The rose, however, my child," whilst he pointed to one, "should be the emblem of modesty. More beautiful than the tint of the rose is the blush of modesty. Thrice happy she who blushes at an idle, wanton jest, and allows herself to be warned of sin by the colour rising on her cheek. The countenance upon which a blush is easily raised, is always pleasing.'

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The good old man, plucking some lilies and roses, formed them into a bouquet, gave them to Mary, and said, "Lilies and roses, these beautiful sister flowers, are, in their matchless

beauty, bound together in garlands and bouquets; so innocence and modesty are twin sisters, and cannot be separated. Yes, GOD gave to innocence, in order that she might be the better protected, a warning sister-modesty. Ever remain modest, my child, and you will also be innocent. Your heart will then be pure as a lily, and your cheeks will resemble the rose."

The prettiest ornament in the garden was a small apple-tree, not bigger than a rose-bush, which stood in a little round bed in the middle of the garden. Jacob had planted it on the day Mary was born, and it bore every year the most delicious golden apples. One year the little tree blew exquisitely beautiful,it was quite covered with blossoms. Mary watched it every morning.

"Oh! how lovely!" cried she, enchanted, "how exquisitely red and white! it is as if the tree were one large bouquet!"

One morning she went to look at her tree-the white frost had destroyed the blossoms; they were already yellow and brown, and shrivelled up by the sun.

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Mary wept over the sad sight, and her father said, "So is the bloom of youth corrupted by sin. Oh, my child, flee from temptation. Ah! if the bright hopes you give me should vanish,you lead not a virtuous life,-alas! then indeed should I shed far more bitter tears than you are now shedding. No longer would happy hours be mine, and even with tears in my eyes should I sink into the grave."

Truly his eyes were moist whilst he spoke, and his words made the deepest impression upon Mary.

Under the guidance of so wise and loving a parent, Mary grew up, blooming as a rose, innocent as a lily, modest as a violet, and hopeful as a tree in its fullest budding. With a peaceful smile did the good old man behold his garden, which rewarded his industry with abundant fruit. With a yet more heartfelt satisfaction he beheld his daughter, upon whom his tender rearing brought forth even richer fruits.

THE CHARACTER OF SIR MATTHEW HALE.*

MATTHEW HALE was born at Alderly, in Gloucestershire, the 1st November, 1609. He was soon deprived of the happiness of his father's care and instruction; for as he lost his mother before he was three years old, so his father died before he was five: so early was he cast on the providence of GOD. But great care was taken of his education, and his guardian intended to breed him to * By Bishop Burnet,

be a divine; and in the seventeenth year of his age sent him to Magdalen Hall, in Oxford, where Obadiah Sedgwick was his tutor. He was an extraordinary proficient at school, and for some time at Oxford. But instead of going on in his design of being a scholar, or a divine, he resolved to be a soldier; and his tutor Sedgwick going into the Low Countries, Chaplain to the renowned Lord Vere, he resolved to go along with him, and trail a pike in the Prince of Orange's army. But Serjeant Glanvill took pains upon him to persuade him to forsake his thoughts of being a soldier, and apply himself to the study of the law; and this had so good an effect on him, that on the 8th of November, 1629, when he was past the twentieth year of his age, he was admitted into Lincoln'sInn; and being then deeply sensible how much time he had lost, and that idle and vain things had over-run and almost corrupted his mind, he resolved to redeem the time he had lost, and followed his studies with a diligence that could scarce he believed, if the signal effects of it did not gain it credit. He studied for many years at the rate of sixteen hours a day. He threw aside all fine clothes, and betook himself to a plain fashion, which he continued to use in many points to his dying day; for he forsook all company, and divided himself between the duties of religion and the studies of his profession. In the former he was so regular, that for thirty-six years' time he never once failed going to Church on the LORD's day. This observation he made when an ague first interrupted that constant course, and he reflected on it as an acknowledgment of God's great goodness to him, in so long a continuance of his health.

He took a strict account of his time, of which the reader will best judge by the scheme he drew for a diary, which I shall insert, copied from the original.

Morning.

I. To lift up the heart to GoD in thankfulness for renewing my life.

II. To renew my covenant with GOD in CHRIST. 1. By renewed acts of faith, receiving CHRIST, and rejoicing in the height of that relation. 2. Resolution of being one of His people doing Him allegiance.

III. Adoration and prayer.

IV. Setting a watch over my own infirmities and passions,—over the snares laid in our way. Perimus licitis.

Day Employment.

There must be an employment, two kinds :

I. Our ordinary calling, to serve GoD in it. It is a service to CHRIST, though never so mean. Here faithfulness, diligence, cheerfulness. Not to over-lay myself with more business than I can bear.

II. Our spiritual employments, mingle somewhat of God's immediate service in this day.

Refreshments.

I. Meat and drink, moderation seasoned with somewhat of God.

II. Recreations. 1. Not our business; 2. Suitable. No games, if given to covetousness or passion.

If alone.

I. Beware of wandering, vain, lustful thoughts; fly from thyself, rather than entertain these.

II. Let thy solitary thoughts be profitable; view the evidences of thy salvation, the state of thy soul, the coming of CHRIST, thy own mortality,—it will make thee humble and watchful.

Company.

Do good to them. Use God's name reverently. Beware of having an ill impression of bad example. Receive good from them, if more knowing.

Evening.

Cast up the accounts of the day; if aught amiss, beg pardon. Gather resolution of more vigilance. If well, bless the mercy and grace of God that hath supported thee.

No wonder a man, who set such rules to himself, became quickly very eminent and remarkable. While he was thus improving himself in the study of the law, he not only kept the hours of the hall constantly in term-time, but seldom put himself out of commons in vacation time, and continued then to follow his studies with an unwearied diligence; and not being satisfied with the books writ about it, or to take things upon trust, was very diligent in searching all records. He set himself much to the study of the Roman law, and though he liked the way of judicature in England by juries much better than that of the civil law, where so much was trusted to the judge, yet he often said, that the true grounds and reasons of law were so well delivered in the Digests, that a man could never understand law as a science as well as by seeking it there. He looked on readiness in arithmetic as a thing that might be useful to him in his own employment, and acquired it to such a degree, that he would often on the sudden and afterwards on the bench, resolve very hard questions which had puzzled the best accomptants about town. But above all these, he seemed to have made the study of Divinity the chief of all others, to which he not only directed everything else, but also arrived at that pitch in it, that those who have read what he has written on these subjects, will think they